Rowland used to use this thing often and was very familiar with scrolls. He glanced at a row of sword-shaped runes on the corner of the scroll—there were five in total—indicating that the scroll could be used five times. But now, four of the runes had already lost their luster, which meant the scroll had been used four times, leaving only one use remaining.

One use left—not bad. But why didn’t Amos use it up? Rowland recalled the memories of the body’s past and pieced together the general reason from subtle clues.

So it turned out the old guy was scared.

Amos was just a brute. His martial skills were terrible, not nearly good enough to become a guard of Wangdom. No one knew where he got the scroll from, but he relied on its enhancement to sneak into the Wangdom guard squad.

To avoid being exposed, he used the scroll cautiously, carefully guarding this secret. Several times during critical missions, he managed to muddle through thanks to it, and he kept up the act for a full ten years.

But the scroll had limited uses. When only one was left, he couldn’t bear to use it. To avoid having his secret discovered, he voluntarily applied for retirement. After retiring, he reached middle age and lost his source of income. As a result, his wife—who had originally been a dockside prostitute—couldn’t stand the hardship, took all the family’s property, and ran off with someone else. He himself fell into despair and began drinking heavily.

“So-called misfortune isn’t brought by the scroll, but is the evil fruit of deception. Ah, ignorant people.” Rowland sighed and rolled the sword-rune scroll back up.

This is a good thing. Whether it’s useful to him or not, at the very least, it could fetch a good price.

Putting away the filthy scroll, Rowland got to work on his own business. He picked up the salmonweed and sponge and, following the alchemical methods in his memory, began to tinker.

First, he mashed the salmonweed into a paste as fine as possible, then mixed in the sponge, stirring and stirring and stirring. He kept at it for nearly three hours, and by the time all the pastries he’d eaten that afternoon were fully digested, the salmonweed paste had finally been stirred into a green, slightly translucent, glue-like substance.

“It’s done.” Rowland was pleased. The AI was right—the basic alchemy simulation was indeed very accurate. This stuff looked exactly like it did in the game.

Then, Rowland packed the glue into a piece of rag, and a simple underwater breathing pouch was complete. As long as he stuffed the pouch into his mouth and inhaled underwater, the breathing gel would filter out air like fish gills, allowing him to breathe underwater.

One of these could let an ordinary person breathe underwater for about three hours.

To be safe, Rowland tested it in water. After confirming it worked, he set out excitedly for the docks.

Chapter 5: The First Bucket of Silver (Part 1)

When Rowland arrived at the docks, he saw a crowd gathered in one corner. In the center, a bald, well-dressed middle-aged man was loudly explaining something, and words like “shipwreck” and “salvage” could be faintly heard.

That’s the one. Rowland immediately walked over and asked a tall dockworker standing on the edge, “Uncle Gates, what’s going on here?”

Rowland had been hanging around the docks for five years and knew most of the dockworkers here. For example, Gates was recognized as the best swimmer on the docks.

Seeing it was Rowland, Gates casually explained, “Big merchant Hamlin had some bad luck—his cargo fell into the water. They’re hiring people to salvage it.”

After speaking, he turned and shouted gruffly at the middle-aged man, “No way, the price is too low! The shipwreck is at least forty meters deep. Diving down there is like going to hell, and you’re only offering one silver coin per trip? Are you treating us like beggars?”

Someone else chimed in, “Gates is right—add ten more copper coins!”

“Yeah, add more!”

“No, one silver coin is already high enough. Besides, we’re only salvaging boxes from the shallow area—no more than thirty meters deep at most.” The middle-aged man stubbornly held his ground on the price.

“Lester, don’t be so stingy. Your boss Hamlin’s goods can’t stand soaking in water. If you wait too long, they’ll be useless even if you get them back.”

“I can’t make that decision.” The middle-aged man, Lester, looked helpless. But he was just a steward—any change in the money, even a few silver coins, had to be reported to Hamlin. That miser watched every copper of his own money like a hawk.

“Hey, you’re just a dog.” Someone impatient started cursing loudly, but Lester seemed to have a weak personality. He just spread his hands helplessly, indicating he really couldn’t do anything.

Rowland rolled his eyes at the side. He thought the price would go up a lot, but it turned out both sides were just haggling over ten copper coins.

The back-and-forth dragged on for about half an hour, but the price didn’t budge. Most of the dockworkers left, unwilling to take on such a dangerous job, leaving only five people at the scene.

These five were the best swimmers on the docks. For them, diving for cargo wasn’t too difficult. Although one silver coin per trip wasn’t much, it was better than nothing. Among them was the previously loudest Gates.